


And in This Pool of Blood I'll Meet Your Eyes

by throwupsparkles



Series: I'll Meet Your Eyes [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, M/M, No Major Character Death, Psychological Horror, Saw AU, Very Flawed Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: My ‘Trick or Treat’ Romance prompt: Waking up in a Saw trap.Gerard has been at rock bottom for a while now, and Mikey is at the end of his rope. After a bunch of failed rehab attempts and abandoned AA meetings, Mikey enlists the help of Dr. Grant Morrison whose methods are a bit unorthodox, but have been proven to be extremely effective.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Grant Morrison
Series: I'll Meet Your Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992196
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39
Collections: My Trick or Treat Romance





	And in This Pool of Blood I'll Meet Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off Saw II because that’s my favorite Saw movie. 
> 
> This is Part One of a series that will eventually be Gerard/Frank/Grant.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Don’t take this fic too seriously. The psychology in this is not accurate and Grant is the least professional psychologist/therapist you’ll ever read about. This is just a spooky fic with some twisted themes.

Gerard knows without opening his eyes that something is wrong.

He’s not in his bed for one. Even in his most fucked up states, he always manages to get home at some point. Mikey is usually the one to drag Gerard off of whatever bar counter he’s taken up residency at and take him home. But he can’t remember calling Mikey last night, which isn’t too out of the ordinary. But if Gerard doesn’t call, Mikey’s brother senses usually tingle enough for him to figure out where Gerard’s landed that night.

His first thought is that something’s happened to Mikey.

He takes a deep breath before opening his eyes and frowning at the darkness that’s still blanketed over him. He goes to sit up, but it’s then that he realizes his wrists are bound to the head of the bed he’s on.

“Mi--” he tries to say, but his voice is engulfed by dry coughs that make his throat protest. His mouth is dry and his lips feel cracked.

Panic floods him, making his chest tight and his brain spin. What the fuck is happening to him? What did he do last night?

He can’t even remember...ok, stop. Gerard tries to take a deep inhale and focuses on the voice of reason that always sounds like Mikey.

What’s the last thing you remember?

He doesn’t recall anything about last night, so he goes back further.

Start from yesterday morning. Do you remember what happened when you woke up yesterday?

Yeah. Gerard had woken up late for work again. He had scrambled around his trashed apartment in search of some jeans that didn’t smell like piss or beer. He ended up squeezing himself into a pair that’s been living at the bottom of his dresser drawer. He was pretty sure he hadn’t worn them since he was in high school and he’s still not quite sure how they made the move to his apartment. Either way, he had gotten dressed and made it to the train station.

But in all his rushing, he had forgotten his wallet so he couldn’t actually get on the train. So, Gerard called Ray because he couldn’t face another lecture from Mikey and he really didn’t want to give Frank another reason why dumping him was the best thing he’s ever done. Ray, of course, came by the train station to drive Gerard to work even though it was out of his way.

“Here,” Ray had said softly, handing Gerard a cup of to-go coffee.

“You’re a fucking saint,” Gerard sighed, taking the coffee and inhaling the sweet sugary caffeine before taking a delicate sip so he didn’t burn off his taste buds.

It wasn’t until Gerard had gotten inside his building that he noticed the folded up piece of paper stuck between the cup and sleeve of the coffee. He frowned and pulled it out, then sighed dramatically once he realized it was a flyer for a support group of recovering alcoholics. “Not AA!” it promised with bright colors, and Gerard realized that Ray probably thought Gerard would actually give it a try since he hated AA so much.

It wasn’t like he was against people getting help, good for them. And it wasn’t even that he thought he didn’t need it. It just didn’t work for him. Mikey’s theory is that Gerard couldn’t get AA to work because he didn’t believe in anything.

“It doesn’t have to be God,” Frank had gritted as he stamped out a cigarette, “He just needs to believe in something other than himself. Clearly he’s given up on--”

“Frank,” Ray had scolded.

But Gerard had just shrugged it off. Frank and Gerard were okay now, almost friends again in a way that doesn’t quite feel forced anymore. It had just taken Frank a while to stop being so angry with Gerard for choosing to get loaded over being with him. “No,” Mikey had sighed, “He’s mad because it fucking sucks to watch someone you love hurt themselves.” Either way, Frank had every right to be angry.

After Gerard had thrown away the fyler, he slipped into his cubicle like he wasn’t late and tried to focus on his work for the day but that was really fucking hard to do when he hated his corporate existence. He had pulled out the bottle of spiced rum he kept in his drawer and topped off his coffee with it.

By lunch he had a good enough buzz to get through the day even though he had forgotten his cigarettes. He called Mikey to let him know he wasn’t in a ditch somewhere, and there was part of him that was poking at the wound of “isn’t it embarrassing to have to check in with your little brother?”

And then after work is when it starts to get a bit fuzzy. Gerard’s pretty sure he remembers walking to the bar down the block from his work. He remembers the first drink he ordered and then…

Oh fuck.

You let a stranger buy you a drink, didn’t you? Mind Mikey asks disapprovingly.

Gerard sighs, wincing a little at the dust that stirs around his nose against the mattress.

Yeah, there had been this guy. And Gerard is a fucking sucker for artsy looking guys, probably because it scratches that longing of what he could have been if he simply “applied himself” or whatever the fuck his academic advisor had said to him before he graduated with mediocre grades.

The guy had been dressed in a sleek suit that somehow didn’t look too businessy and he had this sparkle in his eyes that let Gerard know that he’s seen some shit.

“Anyone sitting here?” He had asked in the thickest Scottish accent that Gerard’s ever heard.

“You,” Gerard had said, moving his jacket off the bar stool and smiling what he hoped hadn’t been too creepy of a smile. Mikey always said he looked creepy when he was trying to flirt.

His name was Grant, Grant...something. Fuck Gerard was really shit at remembering last names for whatever reason. He honestly was pretty bad at names in general and he was always awkward about asking someone to repeat what their name was. Instead he would just try to avoid having to say their name at all.

But Grant had this way of making Gerard forget to feel awkward. He talked like it was a craft instead of a normal human function. Made each sentence string together like they were artfully woven, but also made it seem effortless. And he had so many stories. Magical ones that didn’t seem like they were real at all, but Gerard couldn’t see the lie in Grant’s eyes.

Frank would have loved to talk to him. Gerard hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking that Frank should have been with them. Could have added to Grant’s stories, filled in his pauses with jokes that would have made Grant’s smile widden. And Gerard had pictured how their hands would look over his skin. How the ink from tattoos and pens would blur together against his pale skin, splotchy with bruises from Gerard stumbling drunk. Each of them marked in a way that Gerard thought was brokeningly beautiful.

But he thinks that’s what got him into this mess. That’s what’s got him tied to this bed. He always finds beauty in the broken, the dark and ominous. Grant hadn’t seemed like a threat at the time, but there’s something pushing to the front of his mind now. How Grant had pushed him to talk about himself, really dwelled on the fact that Gerard was a fuck up. Kept asking why rehab hadn’t worked for him. Why he stopped going to meetings for his alcoholism. What he thought this was doing to Mikey and his friends. If he even wanted to get better.

And Gerard never talks about this shit to anyone, Mikey basically has to hold Gerard down and pull the words out of his throat. So for him to just spew this all out to a stranger was sorta embarrassing. Even more so when Mind Mikey comes in with he was making sure it wouldn’t seem out of ordinary for you to disappear.

Fuck, fucking fuck fuck.

Gerard pulls at the cloth that’s tying him to a post in the iron headboard. He hears the ripping sound of his restraints against the metal and pulls harder.

Looking back, he shouldn’t have taken the drink that had been waiting for Gerard when he had returned from the bathroom. But Grant just smiled, eyes warmly trusting, and pushed the refreshed drink towards him. And Gerard had drunk it without hesitation.

Don’t you remember all those date rape drug warnings from high school?

Gerard tugs harder until his restraints tear in half and he’s able to sit up on the bed freely. Hindsight is 20/20, and he really isn’t in the position to dwell on his fuck up right now.

He needs to get out of here.

He steps gingerly off the bed and tip toes his way across the room, trying to be as quiet as possible in case Grant is listening for him. His heart keeps trying to make up a scenario where this isn’t Grant kidnapping him. Maybe Grant left and Gerard got roofied by someone else? Maybe it was the barkeeper! He was always making eyes at Gerard.

Gerard, be serious.

Yeah, ok.

He works his way to the perimeter of the room and slides his hand along the wall to find the door. The room is sealed completely of any source of light. The windows must be completely blacked out or he’s in a room that doesn’t have any windows, though that seems a bit extreme. But he can’t remember being in a room so dark that his eyes can’t adjust.

When his hand stumbles on a doorknob something in his gut squirms and tells him to be careful. He can hear his heart in his head as he turns the knob slowly, holding his breath and then letting it out once the door swings open without issue.

The hallway is lit with a single flickering light bulb and Gerard has to squint at first until his eyes settle. The walls looked like they’re caked in dirt and he’s really glad he’s wearing his boots with the thick rubber soles as he steps out onto the yellowing vinyl floor.

Really going for the serial killer aesthetic.

He follows the hall down past a few rooms that he tries to open, but can’t. Looking behind him every so often, he heads down the steps and ends up in the foyer where there’s a large door with red paint reading “OPEN ME”.

Gerard frowns and looks around. What the fuck?

Gee, the FRONT door. Fucking get out of here!

Right, Gerard thinks, still eyeing the door. He rushes to the front door and isn’t all that surprised to find it locked. He’s not really sure how one locks a house from the outside, but he doesn’t really question it.

The only option is to open the door with the paint and he hesitates to weigh out his options, but he realises there really aren’t any other options.

When he turns the doorknob he hears movement, like shoes scuffing the ground and muffled yelling. His blood runs cold, but there’s something in him that can’t turn away. He reaches and lets his hand slide along the wall until he finds a light switch and pushes it up.

He immediately falls to his knees at the sight in front of him. He’s got nothing in him to keep him upright, his breath and heart completely pulled out of him.

Because in front of him is Mikey, Ray, and Frank sitting on the floor with rope binding their limbs and tape over their mouths. Gerard hurries to them, only looking back when the door behind him slams shut and he shudders at the sound of a locking system sliding into place.

Later, he’ll deal with that later.

He goes to Mikey first, ripping off the tape and wincing at Mikey’s yell of pain as he works the ropes free from his legs. “Get Frank, I’ll get Ray,” Mikey instructs, because even kidnapped, Mikey can’t help but walk Gerard through things.

Gerard’s eyes slide over to Ray as Mikey kneels in front of him, cupping his cheek and giving him a nod before ripping off the tape quickly. Gerard hurries to Frank, his knees crying out when he drops to them and undoes Frank’s restraints around his wrists. Frank rips his own tape off and when Gerard frees his legs, Frank pulls Gerard into a tight hug.

It’s the first time since he’s woken up that he’s allowed himself to slow down and just feel. He’s not surprised that his eyes burn with tears and his nose starts to drip as he pulls back. Then his stomach lurks because Frank’s left eye looks irritated, like someone hit him in the face with a bludger.

“Frankie, your eye,” Gerard whispers, reaching out to touch but then thinking better of it.

“I’m alright,” Frank shrugs, wiping at Gerard’s cheeks and staring at him the same way he has for all these years. Even when Gerard was at his lowest and bringing Frank into the flame of his self-destructive wildfire, Frank’s eyes still held this soul crushing cocktail of love and concern. “Are you ok?” he whispers hoarsely, stroking down his arms and back up to turn his chin one way then the next so he could check for any wounds.

“I’m fine,” Gerard whispers back, blinking free another tear.

Frank wipes that one away too and looks over to Mikey and Ray. “Any idea what the fuck is going on?”

They both shake their heads and Ray looks around the room. “I think we need to start by looking for a way out of here though. I don’t like the idea of just sitting around for whoever did this to us.”

*

Grant has had a lot of desperate family members come see him.

So much so that his assistant, and best friend, Kristan has to screen everyone who comes in. Grant’s learned that desperation is not the best place to come from when asking for his help because his methods are...different, and it is certainly not for everyone.

When Kristan had ushered in Michael-- “Please call me Mikey,” he had corrected--Way into his office one rainy afternoon, Grant was pretty baffled as to how he got past Kristan’s rigorous screening process.

He remembers how frail and worn Mikey had looked in his overstuffed leather chair, how his eyes looked droopy in the warmth of Grant’s office, but he forced himself to sit up straight and power through his request.

“It’s my brother,” Mikey had told him, before launching into a story that Grant’s heard, in one shape or form, a million times. The person in question was always a bright individual who had just followed the wrong crowd or depression took them too deep down a self-destructive path and it was hard for them to get back out.

“We’ve tried everything,” Mikey stressed, “AA never sticks, he always makes it through a rehab program but then is back on the pills and booze a couple weeks later. I don’t…”

Grant had leaned forward to hand him the box of tissues, but Mikey held up his hand and his eyes hardened. “Gee isn’t unsavable,” Mikey had said determined, “But I just can’t do it on my own anymore.”

And that had been it. Had been what Kristan no doubt saw, and why Mikey had been pushed to the front of the line to see Grant. Because so many people who came in to see Grant were at their wits end, just like Mikey, but hardly any of them believed that their loved one was savable. Grant was used to being put into a “lost cause” situation with the pressure to almost perform magic to fix whatever issues had arisen.

But that’s not how it worked.

Grant shifts the camera so that it follows Gerard as he wanders to the door and pulls hard on the knob. Grant smiles at that, everyone always tries the doorknob first.

He’s pretty pleased with the others’ performances so far. Usually he doesn’t bring a group into his set up. Usually, it just takes putting his client into a trap and having him fight for his life. But Mikey had sworn that Gerard was different, that the usual method wouldn’t work.

“It can’t just be about him,” Mikey had said softly, almost fondly, “What he values most is his relationships, people he loves. He needs to feel like what he’s done has affected us--”

“He doesn’t already think that?” Grant asked, deeply curious now. Because he could see how close the brothers must be just by how Mikey talked of Gerard.

Mikey swallowed hard and shook his head, “Not enough.”

It hadn’t been hard to see what Mikey had been talking about when Grant met Gerard.

“He always stops by this bar on his way home from work,” Mikey had sighed, pushing a piece of torn notebook paper with an address on it towards Grant. “And I’m warning you now,” Mikey said, smiling a bit ruefully and looking him up and down, “He’s going to flirt with you.”

“Nothing I haven’t handled before,” Grant had assured him.

Of course that had been before he actually met Gerard. Grant prides himself on not being caught off guard very easily, but he’s not too prideful to admit that Gerard had gotten under his skin somehow. He found himself thinking that the things he normally found bothersome were strangely adorable on Gerard. Things like how his shirt was misbuttoned or how his hair stood up at all ends. The way he slurped at his drink and chewed on the straw with a clear oral fixation. Grant normally cringed when people sucked at their teeth but he had found himself smiling fondly whenever Gerard did it, especially when accompanied with the way he talked out of the corner of his mouth.

And he seemed so oddly engaged for someone who was sitting at rock bottom. Grant had noticed that his breath already reeked of alcohol when Grant sat down at the bar next to him, that his drinks were getting refilled at an alarming rate and it hadn’t slipped his notice when Gerard took something out of his bag that probably was meant to look like a mint.

But Grant could see the heart there. Could see the drive that had just been beaten down too many times. Grant always liked to meet his clients before putting everything into motion, to make sure there’s some fight in them.

Gerard had all but been crying by the time Grant had asked calmly, “Do you even want to get better?”

And Grant had seen the flame in his eyes, the kind that he’s sure used to burn bright when he was younger. The sort of fire that only goes out when the world tries to steal it’s oxygen. “Of course,” Gerard had whispered. “But nothing…” he had trailed off.

“Nothing, what, Gerard?” Grant had pressed, keeping himself composed despite feeling like he was on the edge of his seat.

Gerard bit at his lip and looked down at his hands. “There’s just this dullness in my life I guess. This sort of ‘whatever’. It’s not horrible, but it’s not great. There’s nothing that motivates me to get out of bed and do all--” he sighed agitated-- “I know Mikey is worried. He says I’m going to ‘passively kill myself’ because I don’t care enough to live.”

“And what would make you care to live?” Grant had asked softly.

Gerard looked up at him and shrugged.

But Grant knew, and he’s proven right when he sees the way Gerard keeps looking for a way out of the room he’s locked in. He’s trying to find a way out for the people he cares about.

Grant lets Gerard wander around the room a bit, watching him pull at the bars on the windows and then point up to the vents before asking Ray if he thought they could squeeze through. He was being resourceful, already he was doing so well.

But Grant knows that this was also the point where the adrenaline was a huge factor, it’s why he usually waited it out before really starting. So, he stands up from the monitors and goes into the little kitchenette to make some tea.

One of his cats, the cool toned tabby, brushed up against his leg and Grant smiles before leaning down to scratch behind her ears. “Where’ve you been hiding?” He asks gently, scooping her up and setting her on the small kitchen table.

The cat bats at his hands and Grant chuckles before moving to set the kettle on the stove. He digs through his assortment of tea before settling on a lavender blend since he always gets worked up a bit during these. Grant doesn’t relish in tormenting people, but sometimes it had to be done.

It was what got him to shape up when he was spiralling down into a drug and alcohol filled daze. The difference, however, was that his experience had not been fake at all.

He had been pretty straight laced as a kid, even into his teen years and twenties when most people broke out of their shell and tried to push boundaries to find where they fit. Grant had waited until his thirties to really start to find himself. It often makes him smile when he sees such young clients, like Gerard, because he just wants to tell them that they’ve got time to get it better. They’re still so young. And he had been too, Grant thinks that the older he gets the more age starts to morph into something not as constraining as he once thought.

The problem came when Grant attacked this period of time with reckless abandonment. There wasn’t a drug he wouldn’t try or a drink he would turn down. It wasn’t necessarily that he was trying to make up for lost time, it was more so that he was just so damn curious at that point and it seemed like he couldn’t get satiated. That was until the night he found himself mangled in a bear trap. His foot looked like it would be taken clean off, and there was no way for him to pry the heavy metal trap apart.

He had been at a warehouse party and started the trek home in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn’t even remember walking into the trap, just that one minute he had been at the party, then the next he was laying in the middle of the woods with his foot caught. It had quite literally forced him to stay still and examine his life choices up to that point.

The tea kettle goes off, stirring Grant from his memories. He fills his mug and looks at the time, thinking that perhaps it’s time to get on with it. He leisurely strolls over to the monitors and smiles as his cat jumps up onto the desk for his attention. He gives her a few strokes before turning a dial on the switchboard and watching as the floor of the room Gerard’s in separates and brings up a crate. Grant hits another switch and the crate opens to reveal a tape and a recorder.

He watches in amusement as Mikey lets his performance slip and sees the quirk of an eyebrow as if saying, what the fuck?

*

“I think we’re supposed to play the tape,” Ray says.

Gerard knows that, obviously he knows he needs to play the tape, but there’s a childish part in him that’s thinking if he doesn’t play the tape then he won’t find out what awful thing is in store for them.

Frank puts a hand on his back and nudges him towards the crate. “Go on, Gee.”

“Me?” Gerard exclaims, “Why me?”

“Because you woke up in a different room than us,” Ray points out.

“Yeah,” Frank agrees, “There’s got to be a reason why you weren’t in here with the rest of us.”

You’re all here because of me, Gerard thinks. But he’s not sure how that’s even possible. It’s not like he told Grant their names and addresses, though he was pretty fucked up and who’s to say he didn’t give up the information after he had been drugged?

He looks over at Mikey, begging him to tell him what to do. Mikey’s wearing his usual blank expression, but Gerard’s had years of practice reading past it. And Mikey is scared, he can tell with the way his hands are curled into fists like he’s trying to keep them from shaking. But there’s something else there, something that’s making Mikey not quite meet his eyes. “Go on, Gee,” he says softly, almost sad and that’s when it hits Gerard.

He knows this is Gerard’s fault.

Gerard swallows, but his throat is so dry it just makes him cough and spring fresh tears to his eyes. But he turns his back on the others, already embarrassed enough and hurries to put the tape in the recorder and press play.

“Hello, Gerard,” Grant’s voice leaks through the small speakers and Gerard’s blood runs cold, “For years you have taken your life and the lives of those you love for granted.”

Gerard looks at the other guys who are staring at the tape in Gerard’s hand with grim expressions and Gerard can feel them judging him even if their eyes aren’t on him.

“Today you have the chance to prove whether or not you are willing to do what it takes to turn your life around. You told me that you couldn’t find the will to live, perhaps you will find it today. While you have been asleep, you have ingested an airborne toxic that will eat through your vital organs, something I’m sure is very excruciating.”

“What the fuck?” Frank squeaks and Ray shushes him so they can keep listening.

“Throughout the house are hidden antidotes, one for each of you. However, in order to obtain these antidotes, there are tests to be taken. Time is of the essence, you have two hours until your body begins to shut down from the toxic. Good luck, Gerard.”

The tape clicks at the end of the recording and it echoes through Gerard’s ears.

“How--who the fuck was that?” Frank demands, turning Gerard by his shoulders so that he’s looking at him. “What did you do?”

Gerard scrambles, opening and closing his mouth like he’s going to say something but can’t find the words.

“Frank, back off,” Ray says in a clearly forced calm tone, “He didn’t--”

“Stop babying him,” Frank bites out, “You’re not helping with--”

“--because that tough love thing you’ve got going is helping?” Ray challenges.

And Gerard feels like scum. Feels lower than dogshit on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Because here they are, kidnapped and breathing in toxic fumes, and his friends are arguing about how big of a fuck up he is.

Mikey catches his eyes and he looks like he’s going to cry, but he has his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Come on,” Gerard sniffles, dabbing at his own watery eyes, “We need to figure out a way to get out of here.”

“We need to follow the rules,” Ray points out.

“No, I’m with Gerard on this one,” Frank says, “We can find a window or--”

“There’s no windows here,” Mikey reminds him, pointing at the walls.

Frank crosses his arms. “Ok, how do we get out of this room then? Gerard already tried the door.”

“There’s got to be a trap door or something,” Ray says, going to the perimeter of the room.

“A trap door?” Frank scoffs, “I don’t think this is Scooby-Doo.”

“What other option do we have?” Mikey challenges.

Gerard knows that he should probably be taking the lead with this. The tape was addressed to him, they’re all here because of him. But he can’t help but shrink off to the sidelines, to let the others make the plans and decisions here.

“Gerard,” Mikey says, “Come on.”

Mikey takes his hand and brings him over to a bookshelf. Mikey starts tugging on the books, really testing out that trapdoor theory.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispers.

Mikey pauses, then says, “I know you are,” but it doesn’t sound like it matters, so Gerard starts pulling books too.

They don’t find a trapdoor, but a key falls onto the floor by Gerard’s foot. “Guys!” He exclaims, picking it up and rushing to the door.

“Gee, hey,” Frank hurries, reaching for the key, “Careful.”

Gerard furrows his brow. “It’s a key.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know anything about this place,” Frank insists, and Gerard’s confusion thickens when he sees the look Mikey shoots in Frank’s direction.

“I’ll be fine, Frank,” Gerard says slowly, waiting a beat for Frank to sigh and take a step back. But Gerard does hesitate when he gets to the door, taking a deep breath before sliding the key in and an even bigger one before he twists.

The lock clicks open and the door springs free.

“Weird,” Gerard mumbles, stepping out into the foyer again.

The other guys follow him out and he sighs, “I already tried that,” when Ray goes towards the front door.

“What about the key?” Frank tries.

“No,” Ray counters, “The door is sealed shut.”

“How’d he get us in here then?” Frank asks.

“I don’t really think that’s our biggest worry,” Ray says, “We need to find the antidotes.”

Gerard looks over at Mikey again, who is standing off to the side with a worn expression. And it’s not like Mikey is super talkative, but he’d assume he’d have some input when their lives are at stake.

He’s terrified, Gerard thinks.

Gerard’s the older brother. He’s the one who’s supposed to be taking care of Mikey, not the other way around. Looking at Mikey, he doesn’t even look the youngest anymore. His eyes are heavy from being weighed down by bags. His mouth drooped at the corners, his forehead creased with worry. It’s not fair to him.

“I’m going to get us out of here, Mikes,” Gerard says.

Mikey reaches out to squeeze his fingers then says, “Alright, where to?”

“I woke up in a room upstairs,” Gerard recalls, “We can try up there?”

With no objection, they make their way up the stairs and Gerard shows them to the room he woke up in just before he found them. Ray is the last one in and he lets the door shut behind him, making them all jump when they hear more locks sliding into place. And the once pitch black room is illuminated with bright light.

“What the fuck?” Frank breathes, shielding his eyes.

“Looks like we need to find another key?” Ray asks, blinking strained as well.

“We’re supposed to be finding antidotes,” Mikey sighs.

Gerard immediately looks under the bed, and sees something metal but it’s too big to pull out from under the bed. “Help me lift this mattress?”

Frank comes over and they push the mattress up, leaning it up against the wall. Gerard’s blood runs cold at the mask that’s sitting in the middle of the bed frame.

“What the fuck?” Frank asks, hunching down to pick it up.

It’s metal and looks like it fits around someone’s neck, coming up on either side of their face. The front has eye holes cut out and molded features for the lips and nose. But the creepy part of the mask is the inside, which is made up of a bunch of sharpened pegs.

Frank frowns and moves the sides up. “Yeah, there’s no way you could wear this.”

“I don’t think it’s a fashion statement,” Mikey drawls, taking it and turning it in his hands. The collar part is unlatched and Gerard notices a keyhole in it. And then when Mikey flips it over, he reveals a timer dial.

“Um, there’s another tape,” Ray says.

They all look up at Ray, and then to where he’s pointing at the mattress. Taped to the mattress is another tape and a scalpel.

Everyone turns back to Gerard, and he frowns. “Yeah, alright,” he says, grabbing the tape and pressing play before his mind can catch up to the action.

“Hello, Frank,” the recorder says, and Gerard’s eyes dart over to Frank’s, staring ominously at the eye that’s still swollen. He looks like he’s going to throw up and punch something at the same time. “For years you’ve watched your best friend fall under the shadows of addiction, turning a blind eye until it started to negatively affect you and your new romantic relationship. The mask you’re looking at is your test to obtain the first antidote. Once you put it on, you’ll have ninety seconds to locate the key and free yourself. I’ll give you a hint, the things we are often looking for tend to be right in front of our eyes.”

“We can find another way,” Gerard rushes once the tape turns off.

Frank takes the mask from Mikey.

“Frank,” Gerard rushes, pulling at this hands, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You think there’s going to be an easier way?” Frank bites out, “That tape addressed me. Ok? There’s a test for all of us to get the antidotes.”

Gerard lurches for the scalpel when Frank reaches for it. He holds it behind his back. “No, you’re not doing this, ok? You’ve done enough and--”

“Gee,” Frank’s voice comes out tired and weak.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Frank had told him that morning when Gerard had called Frank to pick him up from some random guy’s house. “I can’t--I’ve done all I can do, and I’m--” he stuttered. And Gerard knew that Frank had been prepping himself to say that to Gerard for a while. Knew that he had practiced saying ‘I’m better than this’ over and over so that he’d be able to tell Gerard, but when the time came, he still couldn’t. And Gerard still hasn’t forgiven himself for breaking Frank’s confidence down that low.

“You deserve more,” Gerard whispers, knowing that it’s already too late for that. That he’d destroyed Frank a long time ago.

“Mikey,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t get it at first, until Mikey grabs the scalpel from Gerard’s hands.

“No!” Gerard screams, but it’s already too late. Gerard shivers at the sound of the metal clenching together, of the lock securing itself and then the timer ticking. Mikey pushes the scalpel into Frank’s hand and then wraps his arms around Gerard.

Gerard knows it’s not just for comfort.

“Come on, come on,” Gerard breathes, watching Frank’s hand shake as he brings the scalpel up to his eye.

Frank’s height has always been a joke among the four of them, but Gerard feels sick at how small he looks. How his frame looks like it’s going to crumble under the weight of the mask. He can see how fast Frank is breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he prepares himself for the pain he’s about to inflict on himself.

He takes the scalpel from his eye and yells in frustration, too in his head about how excruciating it would be to cut a key out of his eye in order to free himself. “You have to do it for me.”

Mikey drops Gerard and Gerard rushes to him, taking the scalpel. “I-I…”

“Gee, I can’t,” Frank sobs, his whole body shaking. And Gerard zeros in on the ticking, counting down the seconds. They don’t have long.

Gerard grips Frank’s chin and angles it up, pressing the scalpel back to his eye. But Frank’s sobs wrecking through his body are throwing Gerard off. And the fucking kicker in all of this is that Gerard can’t hurt Frank when it counts. When it comes down to Gerard’s selfishness, he had crawled into bed with another guy without thinking twice about how it’d shatter Frank’s heart. But when it comes to saving Frank’s life, Gerard can’t do it.

“It’s ok,” Frank breathes, voice thick with tears. His hands shake as they reach to pull the scalpel out of Gerard’s hand. He throws it and Gerard’s heart tears in half, agonizing at the fact that this is all his doing. And now he’s going to have to watch. His own chest heaves and he feels his face dampen and snot lining his upper lip. “Baby, it’s ok,” Frank soothes, but it doesn’t have the same effect when a sob rips out of his throat, “Kiss me. Gerard, fucking--”

Gerard wishes he had the thought to pour all the love he has for Frank in that kiss. Wishes he remembered to tell him how much he loved Frank. How he wishes he could take it all back. That he’d be better for him. That he does deserve better.

But as soon as Frank’s lips slide against his, Mikey is ripping Gerard back by his shirt.

“Fra--” Gerard’s voice catches on itself as he watches the mask snap close around Frank’s head. Screams hoarsely as the weight takes over Frank’s now limp body, pulling him off to the side and landing with a loud thump against the grimey wood floor, blood pooling out of the crevices of the mask.

*

“How do you know this isn't going to fuck him up more?” Frank asks, using the towel that Grant gave him to wipe the red corn syrup off his face.

Grant sighs, watching Gerard throw up in the hallway. “There’s no way of knowing of course,” Grant tells him, “But usually the acknowledgement of knowing that you’re alive in the end is enough to--”

“This is bullshit,” Frank bites out, dropping into the chair next to Grant with a huff.

Grant smiles slightly over his mug of tea. Frank hadn’t really been fond of this plan when they had their orientation meeting.

“Gerard is going to have a fucking heart attack,” Frank had said, crossing his arms, “And why do I have to die first?”

Ray snorted, “That’s really what you’re concerned about?”

Grant hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Frank all that afternoon as he walked them through what was going to happen. He kept letting his eyes run over the different shapes and texts of the tattoos on his arms, his fingers itching to touch. And Grant wasn’t really into pushing into people’s personal spaces, so the impulse confused him.

Even more so did the way Frank seemed to get angry about everything. He didn’t want Gerard to be tied to the bed when he woke up. “Or at least make it easy for him to get out,” Frank amended when Grant gave him a look that he meant as I’m running the show. And it was easy to see the love clearly written over Frank’s face as Grant explained that Gerard wouldn’t be harmed at all during this experience. At least not physically.

“You can’t…” Frank started, then blushed when everyone looked over at him, “You can’t draw these...tests out.”

Grant cocked his head to the side.

“Don’t make him suffer.”

“Interesting rewrite you did out there,” Grant muses as Frank peels off the prosthetic they had placed over his eye this morning.

Frank wasn’t supposed to give Gerard the scalpel. He was supposed to just pretend he was going to cut the key out, then give up.

“I thought it was more powerful that way,” Frank muttered, rubbing at his eye, “Fuck that felt weird.”

“I’m sure it did have an impact on him,” Grant agrees, “Having him have to be the one to hurt you--”

“That’s not why--”

“Why, then?” Grant wonders.

Frank tosses the towel off to the side. “I wanted to know if he’d save me.”

Oh. Oh, sweet boy, Grant thinks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Frank mutters, crossing his arms and staring at the monitors.

“Like what?” Grant ponders.

“Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Not my school of practice,” Grant says, leaning back in his chair to take Frank in. He looks shaken up, as Grant suspects he would after having experienced a simulated death. “Are you alright?”

Frank scoffs.

“I’m being serious,” Grant tells him, “I usually have to schedule sessions with my clients after they’ve been through the traps. It’s very different to have you all in the traps instead of Gerard.”

“I’m not fucked in the head,” Frank mutters.

“I think it’s perfectly normal to be shaken up after that experience,” Grant says softly, monitoring the way Frank keeps shifting in his seat.

“Stop it,” Frank growls, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up.

Grant thinks about telling him not to smoke in here, but he also sees that doing something with his hands is helping them not shake so much. So he lets it slide and turns back to the monitor, watching Mikey pull Gerard up and push him through to the next test.

*

“Come on, you can’t let Frank die in vain,” Mikey mutters, hauling Gerard up on his feet.

His legs feel like jello and Gerard’s not even sure if his head is attached to his body anymore. He feels spacy, like he’s above his body or something and he’s pretty sure that he’s going into shock.

“Alright,” Ray says, pulling on more doors, “One of these has to open.”

“Let’s be a bit more careful about what doors we open,” Mikey says.

Ray ashens and says, “I don’t think it really matters. You heard him, there’s tests to get the antidotes.”

Gerard knows he’s leaning too heavily on Mikey, but he can’t help it and he hopes that Mikey isn’t holding it against him. They don’t find any more doors that open, so Ray leads them back downstairs and they make their way towards the back of the house.

Gerard feels like he’s going to puke once they get to the kitchen. He can already see the trap that’s set up, and has a feeling he knows what’s going to happen before he even listens to the tape that’s stuck to the refrigerator.

There’s a long steel kitchen island, sorta like the ones he’s seen in restaurant kitchens. On either side of the table are two contraptions. There’s an opening on one side, and then a huge gear sticking out from it. Gerard takes a tentative step forward and sees that the gear will move and crush whatever has been inserted.

“Fuck, Gerard,” Ray says, pulling Gerard back.

Gerard frowns and then he sees Ray looking up, so he does as well. Above the table is a curved blade, being hoisted up like it will drop and swing like a pendulum. “What the hell?”

“Better hit play and find out what we have to do,” Mikey says grimly.

“I don’t--”

“We’re running out of time,” Ray says, looking at his watch. “He gave us a time limit so we couldn’t come up with alternative solutions. I really don’t think dying from the poison is going to be any better than dying from that thing.”

“How about not dying at all?” Gerard squeaks.

Mikey bites his lip, like he wants to say something and Gerard frowns a bit at how Mikey looks up in the corner of the room. Like he’s staring at something. Waiting for something. But whatever Mikey is searching for, doesn’t give him the answer he wants, so he sighs and grabs the tape before hitting play.

“Hello, Ray”--Gerard lets out a shaky breath and stares at Ray, who keeps his gaze on the trap in front of them-- “Too long you’ve been too giving, offering handouts and thinking that it could replace what Gerard truly needed. Tell me, were you so giving so that you didn’t have to dive into what was really troubling Gerard? To achieve your antidote, simply lie down on the table. Once secured, a blade will swing down, getting closer and closer until it cuts into your intestines. To stop the blade, all you have to do is reach into the contraptions on either side to hold down the off button. Today I’m giving you a chance to offer a helping hand once again.”

“No,” Gerard says.

“We don’t have a choice, Gerard,” Ray snaps, and it makes Gerard freeze because Ray has never lost his temper with Gerard. He’s always been kind and understanding. Always picked Gerard up from bars or drove him to work when he missed his train. He helped him apply for jobs when he lost his, got his car back from the impound when he forgot to pay his parking tickets, would buy him medicine when he was sick. Up until this point, Gerard really hadn’t realized how much he took advantage of his friend.

Ray doesn’t say anything else, just climbs up on the table. Gerard shoots a look at Mikey like do something, but Mikey won’t meet his eye and just stares up at the blade above Ray. Once Ray lays back, the trap is activated and straps come up to secure Ray.

Gerard leans over like he’s anticipating throwing up again.

The blade is released from it’s binds and starts swinging back and forth. Gerard feels dizzy watching it, but he’s not sure he can watch Ray either. Not sure he can watch him have his hands crushed. Fuck, his hands of all things. He’d never be able to play guitar again, Gerard thinks, and that’s...for whatever reason, that’s soul crushing and Gerard’s not sure he can live with that.

“What’re you doing?” Mikey yells.

Gerard ignores him and hurries to Ray. The blade is getting closer, and he watches Ray suck in his stomach to keep it from getting cut.

“Gee?” Ray asks, hands still hesitating by the entrance of the contraptions.

And Gerard sees the hesitation there, the way Ray is trying to decide if living without being able to do what he loves the most is actually worth it.

Gerard climbs over Ray, putting his legs on either side of his chest so the blade doesn’t catch him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ray bites out, batting at his hands that are nearing the contraptions.

“You’re not giving up your fucking hands,” Gerard says, fighting with Ray.

“Gerard, stop. Stop,” Ray insists, because even in a life and death situation, Ray is looking out for Gerard. Thinking about the need for Gerard’s hands. How art is the only thing that seems to bring him joy, and Gerard hates him for it.

He tugs at Ray’s hands, but Ray has always been stronger than him and he holds him back. Gerard’s trying to pull out of his grip when Ray cries out and Gerard feels hot liquid shoot up his back. And then Ray is screaming, thrashing and Gerard rushes to put his hands in to stop the blade, but Ray is already laying limp. By the time Gerard gets his hands in to push the button, the machine has turned off.

And Ray is dead.

He vaguely feels Mikey’s hands on him, pulling and shifting him off the table. They land in a tangle on the floor, with Mikey holding him tight and saying, “Enough now! Grant, stop!”

Gerard thinks he might be having a heart attack maybe. He can’t fucking breathe and it feels like his chest is caving in on itself.

“Gee, hey, Gerard,” Mikey says, running his hands through Gerard’s blood splattered hair. “Hey, look at me.”

Gerard hears his ragged breathing loud in his ears, feels his heart pounding in his head.

Mikey’s hands are wet when they slide to his face, holding him still and making him look at Mikey’s wide eyes. “Just breathe, you’re ok. Shh, Gee, it’s--fuck, Grant!”

“S’no use,” Gerard sobs, “It’s all my fault.”

“You tried to save him,” Mikey reminds him, “You were going to..Gerard, just…”

Gerard leans forward and rests his head in the curve of Mikey’s neck, brings his arms around him and hugs tight. Just in case this is the last time he’ll be able to.

*

“Fucker, he said stop!”

Grant stares at the screen, watching Mikey try to soothe his brother enough to get him moving. “There’s just one more test,” Grant reminds him, “And it’s the big one. Mikey didn’t say the safeword, everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fucking fine! Why would--you’re a sick son of a bitch,” Frank growls, picking up Grant’s mug and chucking it at the wall. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?”

Grant narrows his eyes. “You had the option to opt out. No one forced you to be a part of this. Don’t blame me for your unhealthy codependency on Gerard.”

“I said stop psychoanalyzing me,” Frank grits out.

“You are,” Grant tells him slowly, because he doesn’t really think anyone’s told him. And maybe this wasn’t the best time, they were focused on Gerard right now. But Grant always had a hard time letting things suffer. “You like that he’s a mess. That he needs you, even though you know it’s wrong. You like to feel needed, and that you’re doing better than him.”

“Fuck you,” Frank chokes, looking away.

“It’s alright to be scared,” Grant whispers, “And it’s alright to not know what you’re doing. But it’s not alright to project that onto Gerard. That tape hit a little too close to home, didn’t it?”

“I said stop.”

“You just kept letting the bad behavior happen,” Grant taunts, knowing that breaking Frank would be the best way to get him to move forward. “You liked it.”

Grant’s had years of experience with the broken individuals. Enough that he knows that they’ll do strange and irrational things in the heat of the moment. Especially when all their emotional baggage gets dropped suddenly, when all their defenses are shattered and they’re nothing but flesh and heart.

But Grant’s still surprised when Frank climbs into his chair and kisses him.

He stills and waits for Frank to realize what he’s doing and stop, he’s preparing for his embarrassment. But Frank is relentless and keeps his mouth working against Grant’s. Keeps tugging at his bottom lip between his teeth, and that is sort of Grant’s weakness, so he kisses back. It just spurs Frank on, his hands gripping the front of Grant’s dress shirt and opening his mouth to let Grant’s tongue slide in.

Grant won’t give into his frenzy though. He carefully cradles Frank’s head between his hands and kisses him softly, strokes his tongue with his own. Frank slows, the anger and pent up emotions dissolving into a need of comfort.

“It’s alright,” Grant whispers against his lips, giving him another soft kiss, “He’s not going to hurt you again. You both will be just fine.”

I’ll make sure of it, Grant thinks. And it sort of confuses him as to why he’s so invested in the two of them. Why their emotional wellbeing is weighing on him like a boulder.

Frank’s head drops and he closes his eyes. Grant hums approvingly, and moves his hand to rub gently at the back of his neck. He looks over Frank’s shoulder and sees that Mikey has gotten Gerard out of the kitchen and Ray is sitting up, making a grossed out expression at the fake blood all over him. So, Grant presses a quick kiss to Frank’s forehead and then pats him on his outer thigh. “Alright, let me up. I need to get Ray.”

Frank slides off without question and sinks back into his chair. Grant gets up and goes over to Frank, picking up the pack of cigarettes that’s sitting on the table. He pulls one out and places it to Frank’s lips. When Frank takes it, Grant says, “Good boy,” and lights it for him. “I’ll be right back.”

Grant walks through the halls that are on the outer part of the house, the part that Gerard will never see, until he gets to the kitchen. The refrigerator is actually a door that leads to these halls, so it makes Ray jump when Grant walks out of it and into the room with him.

“Gerard continues to surprise me,” Grant says, coming over to help Ray off the table.

Ray’s been crying, his eyes are red and swollen. “I didn’t expect him to try and…”

“It’s good,” Grant assures him, “It means he’s measuring the value of life. And that he’s realizing what you, as well as the others, have given up for him. He’s right where we need him to be.”

Ray nods, still not looking quite sure.

“Come on,” he says, leading him to the hidden hallway. “Frank is with me. I’ll make you both some tea,” then, after pausing to where he had seen Gerard panicking with Mikey, “We’re almost done.”

*

Gerard thought that he would be content to just sit on the floor and let the toxin take him, but Mikey’s hand in his forces him to keep going. Because he can still save Mikey.

“We haven’t been to the basement yet,” Mikey says, when they reach the stairs.

And Gerard’s seen enough horror films to know that they really should not go to the basement, but they’ve been through all the other rooms and haven’t found any other traps. “Yeah, ok,” Gerard agrees hesitantly.

They don’t let go of each other’s hands as they slowly make their way down the steps. It’s not a finished basement, though Gerard doesn’t know why he thought it would be. It’s moldy, damp, and smells musky. There’s a bunch of rusted tools hanging up on the walls and boxes strewn across the cemented floor. And then finally, they stumble upon something that looks like a bear trap.

But there’s something odd about it.

“I think that goes around the head,” Mikey muses, letting go of Gerard to hunch down and poke at it.

Gerard pulls at his shoulder. “Mikey, don’t!”

Mikey looks up at Gerard, then off to the corner again like he’s looking at something. “I think we should find that last tape.”

“Last?” Gerard asks, frowning a bit, “There’s still two of us left.”

Mikey bites his lip, like he’s fucked up somehow and it’s starting to get Gerard’s spine tingling. “Mikey?” He asks, “What’s going on?”

Mikey sighs and sits down on the floor, his back up against a metal shelving unit. “Gee, just find the last tape.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Gerard says, “You know something. You’ve been acting weird this whole time.”

Mikey scoffs. “Well, yeah, how am I supposed to act when we’ve all been kidnapped by your new boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Gerard bites out.

“But you just…” Mikey starts then rubs at his face, “You have to find the last tape.”

“Fine,” Gerard grits out, “But I swear to God, Mikey, if you know something...if you had anything to do with…” he doesn’t let himself finish the sentence because he can’t accept the idea that Mikey knew what was going to happen to Ray and Frank. Can’t believe for a minute that Mikey’s in on whatever is going on.

But he kept looking for something. Cameras, Gerard’s mind supplies, he was looking for cameras.

Mikey looks away, staring down at the floor as Gerard goes to look for the tape. He finds it sitting on one of the work benches and aggressively hit’s the play button. Grant’s voice floats through the tension between him and Mikey, “Hello Gerard, this last test is for you and your brother. In front of you is a modification to the trap I found myself in long ago. It seems fitting to have you take a moment and think about how you’ve been living your life the same way I had. Once the reverse bear trap is placed on your head, you will have ninety seconds to retrieve the key from your brother.”--Gerard stares at Mikey, who’s pulling out a scalpel from his jacket pocket-- “I’ve always wondered how much people buy into the ‘my brother’s keeper’ saying.”

Mikey looks up at Gerard from where he’s sitting on the floor. “You have to cut the key out of me,” he says, “It’s behind my heart.”

Gerard feels like he’s going to throw up again. “How do you...I’m not--”

“Put the trap on, Gee,” Mikey says quietly, and it's the tone that makes Gerard bend over and pick up the bear trap. His eyes are hot, but he won’t cry because he’s too tired. He thinks he doesn’t have any more tears left to shed after today. Doesn’t think...maybe he’s still in shock, or maybe he’s just accepted his fate.

“No,” Mikey growls, pushing him a little, “You have to fight.”

“Mikey--”

“No, I’m sick of this,” Mikey bites back. “Don’t you want to live? Do you really want to die? I don’t understand where”--he covers his eyes with both his hands and Gerard watches the way his chest heaves-- “Aren’t I enough?”

“Mikes,” Gerard whispers, setting down the trap, but Mikey drops his hands and moves away before Gerard can hug him.

“No, this is it,” Mikey says, “This is your test, Gerard. Put the fucking trap on and decide what you’re going to do. Because I can’t watch you walk around like you’re dying everyday.”

“Mikey--”

“Get it over with,” Mikey hisses, and it sounds venomous. Doesn’t even sound like his brother, and Gerard feels his heart fucking clench as he picks the trap back up and places it over his head.

Mikey comes over and says, “you have to open your mouth.” Gerard does and watches with confusion as Mikey works the trap so part of it is in his mouth and the rest covers his head. He hears the click of the clock being put in place and then Mikey hits a switch and the timer starts. Gerard realizes that if he doesn’t get the key, the trap is going to spring open and split his head open from the mouth.

“Mikey,” Gerard says around the metal in his mouth, dropping to his knees.

Mikey kneels down before he puts the scalpel in Gerard’s hands and pulls his shirt off. “Right here,” Mikey says, bringing the scalpel up to his chest, “It’s fine, just do it.”

Gerard’s hand shakes, and the ticking is so much louder than when he heard it on Frank’s trap. It sounds like his whole body is ticking along with the trap. Like his cells are moving in that same taunting rhythm.

“Gerard, please,” Mikey whispers, staring at him with pleading eyes.

Gerard shakes his head and throws the scalpel like Frank had done. Mikey moves for it, but Gerard holds him in place. “Mikey, I can’t...I’ve hurt you enough.”

“Ger--”

“I don’t want to die,” Gerard sobs sneak out of him and that’s how Gerard knows it’s true. How he knows that something switched in his mind. And he’s not sure if it’s the metallic taste in his mouth, the ticking in his hear, or the heaviness on his head that solidifies that he doesn’t fucking want to die.

And he’s so fucking angry in that moment. Angry at how he had been living. How he’d been drowning himself in anything that would blur his life away without being brave enough to fully leave. He’d never given it much thought how it was affecting everyone around him, how it was killing Mikey until he had a blade up to his chest.

He knows he doesn’t have much time, hears the ticking continue and knows it’s going to stop at any second. “Mieky, I don’t want to die.”

“I know, Gee,” Mikey whispers, reaching out to cup his cheek through the metal, “Gerard, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

The ticking stops and Gerard closes his eyes, screams, and reaches out to grip Mikey's arms.

But nothing happens.

“Shh,” Mikey’s still whispering, and when Gerard opens his eyes, Mikey is pulling a key out of his pocket. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

Gerard’s scream melts into sobs, like he can’t control his body as Mikey reaches behind him and undoes the trap. He jumps at the sound of the metal clanking on the cement, but Mikey’s arms are around him to keep him still.

“You’re ok,” he repeats again.

Like it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you check out the other Halloween fics in the collection! 
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone!!! <3


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